


Cuts and Bruises

by Ricky B (littletoes101)



Series: Dangan Ronpa, Second Generation [1]
Category: Dangan Ronpa
Genre: Death, M/M, Self Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-11
Updated: 2013-08-11
Packaged: 2017-12-23 02:23:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/920872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littletoes101/pseuds/Ricky%20B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The first time Ishimaru and Mondo's daughter comes home with bruises on her arms and cuts on her face, at the tender age of six with tears flowing freely down her cheeks, Ishimaru kisses her injuries and fixes her up while Mondo stomps down the street to the neighborhood teenage boys responsible for it and threatens them with a fate worse than death if they ever come near his daughter again." First part of the "Second Generation" series.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuts and Bruises

The first time Ishimaru and Mondo's daughter comes home with bruises on her arms and cuts on her face, at the tender age of six with tears flowing freely down her cheeks, Ishimaru kisses her injuries and fixes her up while Mondo stomps down the street to the neighborhood teenage boys responsible for it and threatens them with a fate worse than death if they ever come near his daughter again.

When she finds out about it, Haruhi stomps and looks up at him with unshod tears in her violet-blue eyes that remind Mondo so much of his own, her tiny hands curled into fists at her sides.

“Daddy!” She protests. “I gotta stand up for myself! Now they'll think I'm a...a...a weak little girl!”

And Mondo smiles, reaches down and ruffles her soft black hair. “Not when you're six years old you don't.”

And the bullying stops.

  
  


When she's thirteen the problems start again, but this time she's armed with a foot-long baton and Ishimaru has to pry her off of the last squealing and screeching boy, covered in gravel and dirt and his own blood as Haruhi kicks and squirms in her mother's arms.

“Papa, let me _go_!” She practically screams, but she's not strong enough yet to force him off, and he hands her over to Mondo who clutches her tight and wraps his jacket around her.

He says nothing, just “shh”'s her quietly and rocks back and forth until she stops thrashing, her head finally relaxing against her father's chest, body going limp as she falls unconscious.

  
  


When she's fifteen she labels herself responsible for one of her friend's deaths. She's attacked on the way home from detention by some knife-wielding thugs. Her friend gets between them and she watches as he's stabbed, watches as his body falls, watches as the thugs run off, terrified.

She's silent for days afterwards, only speaking at a few points to whisper, “What have I done, sweet Jesus, what have I done?” to herself, and run her fingers through her heavily greased and styled hair as her mascara runs.

“It's not your fault, Haruhi,” Mondo says to her, but she doesn't respond, and he bites his lip as he watches her spiral downwards into her depression.

A few weeks later, he catches her in the bathroom with blood on a kitchen knife and on her sleeves, on her arms, and a bottle of pills in one hand. He pulls her close and whispers into her ear as she sobs, dumping the pills down the toilet.

They start therapy a few days after that.

  
  


When she's nineteen, she finds the thugs responsible for her friend's death, and she flies into a rage. She's much different now from when she was fifteen, well-muscled and stronger than anyone she knows, minus her father. She doesn't kill them, but she makes them wish she did, and she wants _so badly_ to tie them to the motorcycle her father bought her as a gift when she got her license and drag them down the street until all of their skin falls off, but.

She turns them into the police instead and spends the better half of the next afternoon sitting beside her friend's grave, wearing a short sleeved shirt that shows the scars on her forearms, laughing and crying as she talks to the unresponsive gravestone and tears stalks of grass from the ground.


End file.
